


"Helping" Cliffjumper

by espioc



Series: The Counsel Blues [2]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Emotional Instability, Mentions of drugging, Other, interface slave, mentions of Blurr, mentions of abuse, on both ends, same shit as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 02:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3961135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espioc/pseuds/espioc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>second part of the "Counsel Blues" series. </p><p>Jazz is assigned to be a "counselor" for the interface slaves in the tower. isn't too fond of his job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Helping" Cliffjumper

**Author's Note:**

> This one is short. Hope you like it anyways.

 

Jazz was called up to his “office” every day for the first week. The second week he was only hailed when someone made an appointment, which someone had.

By the second week Jazz had been called in three times for Blurr, who refused to say any more since their first meeting. On the fourth day of the second week Jazz was called in again. He was escorted to his office by a couple of guards, and made to wait two hours before his patient arrived.

In that time Jazz sat, as he usually did, in the corner, where the light barely touched, and kept his head low until he heard the argument that preceded any visit. When the yelling began he stood up to take his seat properly in the chair.

Jazz could hear them coming from down the hall. He wasn’t told who he was going to see, he was simply given the task to counsel them. If one could call it that.

So far it had only been Blurr, but Jazz was well aware that there were more bots within the facility who were bound to the berth. Both in a literal and almost figurative sense. Blurr once described a time he was bound to the berth, aft in the air with his arms fastened to his sides and his legs tied so tightly they ached and lost feeling after only a minute. That was just about the only thing Blurr ever talked about. It was the only thing he could really recall after so long in captivity. Jazz was tired of hearing those stories, but he was there to help, wasn’t he? So he’d be hearing a lot of those stories.

He stood from his normal seat and made his way to the chair, patiently awaiting his “Patient.”

Cliffjumper was shoved into the calm blue room by a large servo, “Maybe he’ll teach you how to _behave!”_ called a gruff voice with a thick accent. She slammed the door behind her bot with a loud thud. Cliffjumper immediately turned and slammed a fist against the door with a loud angry grunt “I’ll show you **_behave!!”_** he roared, kicking the door.

After a moment he wandered into the room, “Alright, what bozo is going to try and convince me to get into bed with--” Cliffjumper stopped short when he saw his fellow Autobot “Jazz?” he whispered in disbelief, his face falling with shock as he stiffened at the sight before him. Everything suddenly felt unreal. Jazz wasn’t supposed to be there. Out of all the bots who could have been there, it wasn’t supposed to be Jazz.

Cliffjumper sat down.

“Jazz?” he asked again “But—we all…we all thought you were –dead.”

“Now why would you think that brother?” inquired Jazz, trying to sound like his normal self but struggling a bit.

Cliffjumper was taken back by the sound of the smooth voice. He put a hand on his chest, as if calming his spark “Say—say something again,” he requested, a distance in his voice.

“Alright, what do you want me to say?”

Cliffjumper closed his optics, allowing the voice to sink it “Anything,” he breathed “After so many stellar cycles---after so many years of her _voice_ of all their voice’s! I just need to hear you. I never thought I could miss a voice as much as I missed yours.”

Jazz raised an optic ridge, shifting the data pad and pen he held in his lap “You seem surprised by my being here, I’m guessing Blurr failed to mention it to you?”

Cliffjumper was taken aback, looking at Jazz as though he’d just said the stupidest thing in the world, “Blurr?” he questioned, as if Jazz should have already known “Nobody sees Blurr. Blurr isn’t allowed out of his room. We have no clue what’s goes on over at his end.”

“Oh-” Jazz said after a moment “I was—unaware. But, hey, were not here to talk about Blurr, we’re here to talk about you--”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Pardon?”

“This,” Cliffjumper gestured the room “This whole, gig, this set up. What are you doing here Jazz?”

“I’m—counseling.” Jazz said, keeping his eyes locked on the table. He knew he was lying.

“This isn’t counseling and you know it!” Cliffjumper raged, pointing a sharp finger at Jazz, pulling it back quickly “You _know_ what this is. So why are you doing it?”

Jazz kept his helm down, trying not to look defeated but failing miserably “We’re not here to talk about me, Cliffjumper, we’re here to talk about you.” Jazz said calmly, raising his helm and gluing on a cool look.

Cliffjumper fell back as though he had been struck “Me?” he asked “Why? Why!? Why are you here Jazz!? Answer me! Who bribed you? Who threatened you? Are you being brainwashed? Is this an undercover mission, help me out!” Cliffjumper threw himself forward, flying clumsily over the table and taking hold of Jazz’s arms. Jazz fell back, partially immobilized by the red mini-bot holding his arms to his sides “Cliffjumper!” Jazz managed to push him off “What is with you man! Get off me!” Jazz felt flustered and overcrowded. The touch of his fellow Autobot was something he didn’t think he would fear so much. It was just new and surprising. He hadn’t shaken the hand of one of his colleagues, or been held by the shoulders and shaken by a hysterical bot in nearly 200 years. It had to be re-learned. Cool servos on his equally cool plating. The touch had become foreign and he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to get reacquainted.

Cliffjumper suddenly froze. After a moment he released his hold and fell back on the table, his face blank with a painful realization. After a moment of staring he leaned forward, lazily setting his elbows on his knees “This is real isn’t it?” he asked quietly “You really think you’re helping us by doing this. You really think-” Cliffjumper stopped himself, leaning back to examine his fellow Autobot “I knew you could be soft, Jazz, but I never took you as an _idiot.”_ He spit out, throwing Jazz for a curve.

Jazz leaned forward, suddenly gaining purchase in his mind and able to think again “Now hold on,” he scowled “I’m no fool, my friend, I know what I’m here to do-”

“Then why are you doing it!”

“Because I can’t-” he stopped short, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to see any more Autobots die. He couldn’t say that, though, because he knew they were already dead. Jazz wanted to assume his being there would help build them up, to give them a place to come when they are in pain, and to have someone they trust sitting right across from them. The fact was, though, Jazz was someone they trusted to be a good comrade, a friend and councilor when in need of guidance, or a cool head when one is needed, not a Decepticon “Counselor.” This wasn’t what he was supposed to be. He was tricking them, and Jazz was well aware.

Cliffjumper leaned in again “You can’t what?” he asked, suspicion hidden in his tone as if Jazz was about to say something as a result of brain washing. Jazz leaned back, forcing himself to relax “So. How are you?” he asked out of the blue, throwing Cliffjumper off guard, and fueling his tiny rage “Jazz!” he screamed “Tell me what’s going on!”

Jazz suddenly leaned forward, putting a light hand on Cliffjumper’s shoulder, pausing the red mini-bot’s rage “I am here to help you,” started the counselor calmly “This is what’s going on. I am here to talk to _you._ Not the other way around. You may think it’s wrong, you may believe this is a trick, but in all honesty, my friend, I am here to help.”

Cliffjumper was at a loss for words. He didn’t say anything for a while before standing up and sitting back on the couch “This is weird.” He commented “This isn’t right. I can’t—I can’t concentrate.” He struggled to spit out the words.

“Cliffjumper,” Jazz started in a light stern voice, “Look at me. Keep your eyes on me, man, don’t try to pay attention to anything else.”

The red bot looked up at his fellow Autobot. He looked desperate, lost and looking for a way to go, “Say something again.” Cliffjumper requested, looking Jazz straight in the optics.

“I will say as much as you want,” Jazz confirmed, “Why have you been missing a voice like mine?”

“Ugh! Because I’ve had to listen to _her_ for _ages.”_

“Who?”

“Strika!” Cliffjumper squeezed the side of his head, crushing his audio receptors “I can’t listen to that femme’s voice anymore!” he released his head “Ugh! She is so!- So-!” Cliffjumper didn’t know what to say “I’ve been with her for, what? Forty years? All she ever does is scream! Go on missions and scream!”

“She’s never tried to interface with you?”

“Oh she has! I punch that glitch in the face. I get tied up for it but who cares. She gives me drugs to get me to calm down for interface…” His face suddenly changed. As if realizing just what kind of situation he’d been in for forty years. He put a hand to his head, keeping his face down and purposely hiding his optics “I’m afraid...I’m afraid-” Cliffjumper’s voice was gruff, tired. He was exhausted “I’m afraid I’m going to end up like—Blurr! That we’re all going to end up like him! Shockwave’s got him on this leash! And I don’t _want_ that!” Cliffjumper took hold of his head again.

Jazz took a moment to gather his thoughts before going to counsel the red bot “You’ve been with her for, what? Forty years? How many times has she really tried to interface with you?”

Cliffjumper’s head shot up “What?” he asked quietly, surprised that Jazz seemed to actually be trying to give him advice.

“Strika may be savage but she’s not one to lose control,” Jazz continued, ignoring Cliffjumper’s baffled look “But I know she has a sadistic streak. Maybe, for now, you comply. In that time she’ll stop giving you drugs, and she’ll stop hurting you. She only tries to interface with you because she knows you hate it. The more compliant you become the less pleasure she gets from doing it to you. Less resistance equals less interface.”

Cliffjumper took in a small gasp, his mouth agape with pure shock at what Jazz was telling him “I didn’t think-” he started breathlessly “I didn’t think you’d actually— _try_ to counsel us into the berth,” his brow furrowed in confusion “What—what have they done to you Jazz?”

Jazz shrugged “Nothing. Look, Cliffjumper, the way I see it you’re in control. The more you fight the more it turns her on. _You_ are in control of her pleasure. _You_ are in control of what happens. You can fight all you want but that only makes her stronger, and it makes you weaker.”

Cliffjumper continued to stare in disbelief but said nothing. Jazz continued “You know, Cliffjumper, when I say I’m here to help you I mean it. I don’t want to shove you in the berth, I don’t want you to be forced into anything. I’m just here to calm you down and help you look for alternatives…And when you need it-” Jazz didn’t want to say what was on his mind. He was supposed to say something about being someone to talk to when they’re feeling down, but he couldn’t. He was supposed to help regulate their emotions, keep them calm keep them happy, take the smog out of the air. The problem was that Jazz didn’t know how to do that. He could listen, and take in the information. He could take it in and keep it and spit out words of advice he’d recited in his head that would work for almost any situation. It was all made up, though, it wasn’t genuine, it was barely even his own thought. Jazz didn’t know how he was supposed to keep other’s emotions in check when he could barely understand his own.

The prison had sucked him dry. Forty years of silence had taken away his natural voice and left everything to his crowded thoughts, filled with 200 years of disappointment and futile hope. Jazz was surprised he could still _speak_ after all those years, but he was well aware the words were blind. The real Jazz was still locked away in his mind, looking on and screaming.

Cliffjumper sat forward, waiting for Jazz to continue “Jazz?” he asked quietly, raising a brow “Are you—going to continue?”

Jazz shook his head, bringing himself back to reality as far as he could go “What? No. I was done.” He leaned forward slightly, putting a hand out as if gesturing the red Mini bot “When I said I’m here to help I wasn’t lying,” he started, putting on the lightest but most assuring smile “I’ll help you more, brother, if you’d be willing to take my hand and come again.” He looked at Jazz hopefully, sticking out his hand for Cliffjumper to take, as if they were making a deal.

Cliffjumper looked at the hand for a moment, hesitant and unsure. He wasn’t entirely sure Jazz was still right in the head, but he couldn’t resist the voice. Jazz had a tone that could hypnotize anyone into doing anything, and Cliffjumper was aware enough to be scared of that.

He took the hand.

With a quick shake a secret deal was struck , and Cliffjumper would be returning.

Almost as soon as their servos separated the door burst open “You are finished,” Strika demanded, taking her bot by the arms and dragging him out of the room. All Jazz could do was give a weak goodbye. Cliffjumper looked frightened for a second while he was being dragged away, looking back to Jazz for answers he knew the cool headed bot didn’t have.

All Jazz could do was smile reassuringly, telling Cliffjumper all would be well. It was a lie of course, but that didn’t matter. This was Jazz’s job now.

When the red mini-bot was gone and the room was left to Jazz and his thoughts, Jazz did as he usually did until guards came to bring him back to the much too large cell he now called “home”

He sat on the berth, then he sat on the floor. He buried his head in his arms, then he lifted his head to the light. He paced, then he stopped, and sat back again, tired, but unwilling to recharge just yet. He didn’t think about the day’s events. He didn’t think about the lashes and burn marks he’d seen coating Cliffjumper’s frame. He didn’t think about the “advice” he’d given his old friend, which, in essence, had been “calm down it will hurt less.” He couldn’t think about that.

All he could think about was what lie to tell next, and wonder who was next on the list of slaves to trick. Their master’s take them to Jazz because they know Jazz, and they know Jazz is broken and quick lipped, ready to tell a lie, but doing it in a way in which even the smartest bot is convinced. And the slave owners knew he would do it. It was all a big elaborate trick, and Jazz knew that. He couldn’t stop, though. It wasn’t to save his own skin, though, it was to save everyone else’s even if all he would be doing is killing them.

Even with this knowledge, though, Jazz would keep doing. He would keep lying. He would keep counseling, and he would keep,

“Helping”

**Author's Note:**

> More on the way.


End file.
